The Unconventional Pair
by shutupmerlin
Summary: Amy has left Leadworth to start a new life in London. With no sign of the Doctor she thinks she is in for a normal life, until she moves into 221b Baker Street. Pondlock!
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: ((I love Pondlock! I really do.**

**Anyway, I hope you will like this story. Things will pick up very soon. It's set after Reichenbach, just so you know. John isn't in this much at the moment, but don't worry, he will be here soon.**

**Massive thanks to Muse, Example and Imagine Dragons for keeping me motivated. I seem to write to these guys a lot.**

**I don't own the characters. I have nothing to do with either show. I'm just a fan)).**

Snow fell from the skies above Baker Street. It had been for most of the day, leaving a good few inches blanketed on the ground. It was mid January. The air was cold and crisp, occupied by a thick hazy dog that gave off an almost supernatural atmosphere. It sent shivers down the spine of the auburn-haired woman who stood in the street outside 221b.

Amy Pond waited patiently, her arms wrapped tightly around her torso as she attempted to keep herself warm. Instead of her usual mini skirt number she had opted for jeans. A wise choice. A read woollen hat sat upon her head, a scarf was hung around her neck and she donned a long green boat that matched the colour of her eyes. She had barely worn anything else for the past few days.

"Come on," she muttered under her breath, her eyes fixed on the door in front of her, the one she had knocked on mere seconds ago.

Why was she standing outside 221b Baker Street? It was her new home, hopefully...

Things hadn't been easy lately. Far from the perfect life she had dreamed of once upon a time. Leaving Rory was the hardest decision she had ever had to make, and it had broken her heart, but it was for the best. It was true that she loved him, more than anything, however she could never give him what he wanted - kids - and she knew he'd never be truly happy. She just couldn't bear to put him through that. Of course, he had begged her not to leave, had told her he was happy, that he would be in all the years to come, even without the 'joys' of parenthood. But she could see it in his eyes, the sadness. She knew him too well.

She had left days later. For a while, she had stayed with a friend in Leadworth, yet she couldn't quite cope with the memories the villageheld. Eventually, she left for somewhere new, somewhere she could make a fresh start, and it just so happened that she had found herself in a city she used to dream of living in when she was a wee girl - London.

Not without trying to find the Doctor, though. On her journey she had continuously kept her eyes peeled for any sign of that familiar bluebox and the mad man that came with it. Nothing. She wondered where he was and what he was up to constantly. She wondered if he had travelled to Leadworth lately to see her. She missed him. She needed him.

At least she had had someone to talk to while in London. Molly Hooper, a nice girl who worked in morgue at Bart's hospital. They had met at a cafe a few days ago by coincidence. It wasn't a very exciting encounter. If they hadn't have had to share a table at the crowded cafe they were in they might not have crossed paths; and Amy knew she definitely wouldn't be standing where she was now if it hadn't been for Molly.

When Molly had asked Amy what she had been doing in London, Amy explained that she had decided to move here and had been looking for a place to live.

"Really? I think I might know somewhere you can stay..." Molly had said with a kind smile.

"You do?" Amy was keen. Anything was better that the trashy B & B She had spent the past three nights in.

"I mean, I don't know if the vacancy there is permanent or anything... I heard it is..."

"Where?"

"A friend of mine. Well, I say friend... I know him anyway. He's a bit... But he is alright once you get to him, I think. Last week his friend moved out to live with his fiancée and I heard he's looking for a new flatmate... I can find out for you. I see him most days. Then I'll give you the address."

"Right. Okay."

"And in the meantime, you can stay at mine if you like? You don't have to if you don't want to... But I can always make room... I suppose."

"Thanks. I'd love to."

They had gotten on well. Amy felt slightly bad for leaving Molly on her own that morning but there clearly wasn't enough room in her flat for the three of them; Amy, Molly and Toby cat. The ginger moggy seemed to be the centre of Molly's world and Amy didn't want to come between them. They had swapped numbers, though. Amy never realised just how quick she could make friends. Molly was positively beaming over the fact that she had a new friend who actually seemed interested in her.

Eventually, the door of 221b opened, much to Amy's relief. A small thin woman in a purple dress and a short haircut greeted her with a friendly smile.

"Oh, hello dear, you must be..."

"Hi. Amy..."

"Yes, Amy, that's it."

Amy had met Mrs Hudson before, when she came to discuss the rent amongst other things. She had not seen the flat she'd be staying in, though. It seemed the woman had forgotten her name.

"Come in, my love, you'll catch your death out there."

Pulling her suitcase behind her, Amy stepped inside past Mrs Hudson, who had placed a soft hand upon her back as she entered, guiding her inside. It was much more warmer inside. Amy could feel the colour returning to her cheeks. Glancing around, she noticed how normal everything looked. Far from the normal she was used to. The green wallpaper wasn't exactly something she liked, but she would get used to it.

"This way." Mrs Hudson made her way up the rickety stairs - the stairs Amy had not been led up the last time she came here - and Amy followed, dragging her suitcase behind her. Despite it being a medium sized travel case it was still quite heavy. The stairs creaked with each step, adding to the nerves Amy already felt. She was nervous, with good reason, for she had no idea who her new flatmate was. She had been told about him, that was all. She had no idea whether he would like her, or whether she would like him, but she really hoped they'd got on; otherwise she'd be back to square one.

"Sherlock, you have guest."

Sherlock. A bit of an odd name.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: ((Thank you to all those who read my first chapter. I hope you like the second. **

**As much as I enjoy writing this fic, I'm slightly worried that my characters are a little OOC, especially Sherlock. He's not the easiest character to write. I do like a challenge, though, and hopefully in time I will get better at writing him.**

** Also, I will probably be posting a couple of chapters a week. It all depends on how much time I have to write something.**

** Rate and review. :] ))**

"Sherlock, you have a guest."

It had been positively quiet until Mrs Hudson had called. The consulting detective had been sat upright in his chair all morning thinking. It was common for him to do that, and would pay no attention whatsoever to those around him when he was in his thought mode, although not always deliberately. Once he was in a train of thought that was it - expect nothing for a good few hours, maybe even days. It was probably the only time he would otherwise remain silent. John had sometimes found it heaven sent, although at times he had been certain that he could hear the cogs ticking and turning in Sherlock's brain.

Hearing Mrs Hudson suddenly brought Sherlock sound. A sigh left his lips. He had been certain that he had not been expecting anyone right this minute. Unless this was a client. Did he have case? He bloody well hoped so. He'd had nothing for a few weeks and boredom was bitch.

"Yoo-hoo." The landlady knocked before pushing the door open further. Behind her was Amy, who was trying to peer into what would be her new accommodation. It wasn't long before she noticed the dark, curly haired man who sat across from them, poised in a position that made him appear as if he had been concentrating on something.

Sherlock had noticed her, too, instantly reading her with just a few looks. That came naturally to him, the deductions, knowing someone's entire life story before actually even speaking to them. Slight disappointment hit him when he realised that she wasn't a client. Well, she wasn't. He just knew. She didn't have the troubled appearance of a client in need of his help. That, plus the suitcase that was at her side was also a clue.

Suddenly, he remembered. Molly had questioned him a few days ago about the vacancy in 221b. She had explained to him about her friend. He had agreed to let her friend move in. To be honest, he would have been perfectly happy on his own but it was hard to keep up with the rent. Even when he got paid for the cases he worked on.

"Your new flatmate has arrived," continued Mrs Hudson.

"Ah, yes." Sherlock rose, extending to his full height.

Amy had noticed the realisation in his tone of voice. Typical bloke, always forgetting. Perhaps she shouldn't be too quick to judge this man, for he seemed smart. Very smart. And he was very, very talk.

"You are Molly's friend. Yes, she informed me you'd be coming. I did not expect you to arrive so soon."

Amy attempted her best smile. "Yeah, I, er, don't like to waste time with these things..."

"Not a problem. Amy Pond, isn't it?"

She nodded.

"Good." He pushed his hand into his trouser pocket, scanning around the room. Papers were scattered all over the desk, almost burying the laptop underneath them. Empty coffee mugs were dotted around carelessly in the strangest of places. The curtains were still closed, making the room look darker than it really was.

"It's a bit of a mess but I'm sure I can straighten things up a bit..." He made an attempt at tidying away old bits of paper.

Amy laughed softly. "It's fine." Turning to Mrs Hudson, she pulled a thick brown envelope from her coat pocket, handing it to her new landlady. "I have rent... I know I was told I didn't need to pay just yet but I feel I should. I might not be able to get a job yet. I hope it's enough to cover a couple of weeks."

Mrs Hudson took one glance at the cash, nodding her head. "It's more than enough, dear."

"Great... Erm, can I see my room?"

"Yes, yes, of course. I will show you to it now. And you, Sherlock, will tidy this place up. Honestly, what am I going to do with you?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes. The amount of times Mrs Hudson has nagged at him to keep the flat clean could be written in an entire novel. Tidiness wasn't his strong point, especially when it came to his experiments; something that Amy was bound to discover in time. Since John left, Sherlock had become a bit more lazy in the domestic sense. Not that he had ever not been lazy in that side of things. He wasn't very good at being completely domestic, not with his mind. He missed his friend, yet he tried his hardest not to let on that that was what was up with him. Of course, Mrs Hudson knew. She just did.

It was John's old room that now belonged to Amy. Mrs Hudson had explained everything. The ghastly green wallpaper was back - it seemed to be a common occurrence here.

"Sorry if it's not exactly what you had in mind," began Mrs Hudson, only for Amy to tell her that it was fine, she didn't mind. She honestly didn't. "I placed some flowers in a vase for you, to add some colour. Us women like a splash of colour. And I have cleaned everything for you. I made sure to clean the bedding a few days ago, when I knew you were moving in..."

There was silence for a while. Amy removed her hat, scarf and coat.

"Anyway, I will leave you to sort yourself, if there is anything you need I'll be downstairs. I wouldn't rely on Sherlock to do anything at the moment, he is still upset about John leaving..."

"I'm not upset, Mrs Hudson."

The landlady almost jumped out of skin upon hearing Sherlock. He stood at the door, gaze switching between the two women constantly.

"Oh, Sherlock, don't pretend you don't miss him. You've done nothing but mope around lately."

"I don't mope around and I am fine. I'd be even better if you refrained from talking about me when I'm not around."

"I was only explaining - "

"Please don't. I seriously doubt Amy is interested in my emotions. Haven't you got something better to do? Doesn't your fridge need cleaning?"

With that, Mrs Hudson left, shaking her head, looking hurt. Who could blame her? She should be used to in now, mind

Amy frowned in disapproval and fixed her green eyes upon Sherlock. "You know, you're quite rude."

"Yes," he replied coolly, "and you're rather interesting."


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: (( Thank you to those who have been reading so far, and have even followed/favourite. It really did surprise me after posting only two chapters.**

**This chapter is a bit longer. It was a killer to write, partly because I rambled halfway through. It was originally longer than this, but while editing I managed to condense it down to the important stuff.**

**In reply to Brynchilla, Mycroft will be making an appearance soon. I have already written that chapter, it just needs checking before I post it. (:**

** Anyway, enjoy. I maybe tried too hard with this...**

** Rate & review! (: ))**

"Interesting?" Amy could feel her forehead crease into a frown while she stared at the tall, thin man in front of her.

"Yes."

Shuffling on her feet, she placed a hand upon her side. Amy was curious to know what he meant. The fact that he didn't know her was even more intriguing. She smiles nervously, waiting for an answer, her tilting ever so slightly to one side.

"You've lived an unconventional life," Sherlock spoke, matter-of-factly.

Shaking her head, she chuckled. "Hardly. It's been pretty normal," she lied and moved to grab her suitcase. Throwing it down on the bed she prepared to unpack her things. The room would definitely feel like her own in time.

As she went about her business, Sherlock observed her more, and a smirk curled at his mouth. "I doubt that." He knew. He could tell just by looking at her close enough that he life had been less 'normal' than usual.

"What's interesting about me?"

The phone started to ring loudly from the other room.

Brilliant timing.

"Everything."

"Everything?"

"When I say everything, I mean most things..."

"Right..." Amy came across as confused. After scanning him up and down, her eyes darted in the direction of the living room, the sound of the phone bellowing out to be answers. "You should get that."

He simply stared at her. It seemed as if he was figuring something out - or trying to, like a mathematician trying to solve a tricky sum.

By instinct, Amy went to go and answer the phone herself when she realised he wasn't shifting. Well, she did now live there. But he stopped her seconds later.

"No, it's fine, I'll get it," he told her. He left her room. The phone call had interrupted their conversation and his train of thought. That annoyed him. He had been in the middle of deducing Amy. He had worked out that she had married and had been a model. She had also been travelling. Normally, he would have had some idea where. However, there was something unusual about her travels... What it was, he couldn't quite put his finger on.

The phone call hadn't been anything that important. It had only been Lestrade wanting Sherlock to nip down to the Yard just to finalise a few details on their last case. It hadn't really surprised Sherlock that it had taken the police so long to bring the murderer to justice - they were idiots. He didn't see how they needed him to finalise details. Surely they were quite capable of at least doing that by themselves. Having said that, Sherlock had solved the case. It had been a tricky one, but that had not fazed him, and he had solved it within a couple of days. He had all of the facts. The police had them too, but as said, they were idiots.

Anyway, if he didn't go, Lestrade would only keep asking, or possible arrive on his doorstep. Lately Lestrade had been all for annoying Sherlock. He hadn't exactly forgiven the consulting detective for making everyone believe he was dead for a while.

"I have to be somewhere," Sherlock informed Amy, shrugging into his coat.

The red head faced him. She didn't ask where he was off to.

"Feel free to make yourself at home."

With that, he left, leaving Amy pondering on their brief conversation. What did he mean by interesting? Of course, she was aware that there have been some interesting aspects of her life - the travelling through space and time being the . But he knew nothing about that, did he? How could he? How could anyone?

An hour and a half had passed until Sherlock arrived back at the flat.

In that time, Amy had unpacked her things, opened the living room curtains, allowing a fresh stream of light into the room (the light was almost blinding at first as the snow outside seemed to make everything brighter); she had also managed a trip to the shops. When she had gone to make tea earlier there had been no milk. In fact, there had been little of anything edible in the fridge. Instead, she had come across fingers - human fingers! - In the bottom compartment, yellow at the nails and bloodied at the ends, bagged up. She had seen strange things while travelling with the Doctor, things stranger than a bag full of human fingers, but the fact that they had been kept in a place made to store food was what shocked her and made her question the man she was staying with further.

As Sherlock arrived she was finally making tea for herself. Then she decided to make one for him. He didn't seem too bothered when she placed the mug down on the desk as he tapped away at his laptop.

"I don't remember asking for one."

"No, I thought you might like one."

"Why?"

Thinking for a moment, she then shook her head. "It doesn't matter." She went to take away his tea.

"No, no, it's fine. I'll have it... Thank you."

She suddenly smiled. With her hands wrapped around the warm mug she took a seat at the desk opposite him, watching as he concentrated on whatever was on his laptop. Her phone buzzed in her pocket. She saw that it was Rory calling her when she pulled it out. He had called her several times since she had left even though she had told him not to. She understood why. He loved her, missed her. She missed him, too, and still loved him. But she couldn't go back. She couldn't hurt him.

He deserves to be happy.

Hesitantly, she rejected the call. It was for the best.

Sherlock noticed how she carelessly placed her phone on the desk, as well as how her expression saddened.

Pushing the thoughts of her estranged husband from her mind, Amy set her attention back onto her flatmate. "So, come on, tell me. Why am I interesting?"

It had been bugging her since he had left. It was hard to keep herself from asking. Since meeting the Doctor in her childhood she had become naturally curious over everything.

Leaning back in his chair, Sherlock vaguely smiled, examining her once more, taking in her question.

"You've been travelling. It wasn't that long ago, I'd say a year or so, and you travelled with a friend. They weren't just any old friend, they were someone you have known since you were a child, although you probably didn't see them as much as you would have liked to. The trip was long and adventurous, and now you miss it. It's taken you a while to adjust to the normal life again. There's something about your travels that stands out from the typical holidays people often take. I don't even think yours was a holiday, definitely not one that was planned anyway. It was far more than a holiday. But what, is the question..."

He hasn't touched upon the space and time thing then...

"In-between that you got married and you also had a child who you don't see much. Eventually, you decided to stop travelling to live a happily married life with your husband. I suspect that most people do. In that time you became a model, a job you thrived on. It's only until recently that you quit the job. Things started to go wrong in your marriage. You left him and you home; now you're here as an attempt at what people call a 'fresh start'. But you still love your husband and you still miss your friend."

Swallowing hard, Amy did her best to compose herself. While Sherlock had been rambling away, her phone had ringed another two times. Each time she rejected. Shock washed over her in an instant.

Okay, this is new...

"How do you know that?"

"You've done a lot for a woman in her late twenties," he said, ignoring her question.

"Early, actually."

"I'm sorry..?"

"I'm twenty-four." She came across as uncomfortable and was gripping hard at the mug.

Sherlock soon leaned forwards, elbows resting on the desk top. "Really?" he said, intrigued. "You look older..."

Yes, she did look older, though not by much. Amy had noticed it - it was all down to the travelling. There was only a slight older appearance about her. No-one ever seemed to notice so it couldn't be that drastic. He had. He must be really clever if he had spotted this. Or maybe he just had good eyesight?

No, he was definitely clever.

They stared at each other for a moment. She stared rather blankly at him. He knew about her life and they had only met a few hours ago. She hadn't mentioned anything to anyone about her past, not Molly, not Mrs Hudson, certainly no-one Sherlock knew. So how..?

She didn't like it. It felt like her privacy had been invaded. It had amazed her, yet it had also made her uneasy, especially because he had brought up the subject of her marriage. If she wasn't feeling so uneasy she would have questioned him about this more, only she couldn't bring herself to speak.

So she stood up and left, full of amazement, confusion and hurt. She needed to think.

**A/N: ((Also, I'm not sure at which point exactly Amy started aging (I think it was during series 7 actually) but I feel that she'd probably have aged a bit more before then due to the travelling back and forth and whatnot. ))**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N ((Sorry, I haven't posted in two weeks! :O I have been busy... But here it is chapter four. I had fun writing this one. Hope you enjoy reading it.**

**Thanks for reads and reviews etc... So far. Much appreciated. Keep them coming)).**

Sherlock saw nothing of Amy after she had left. To be honest, he had sort of expected it. Not everyone was impressed by his deductions. Not everyone was John.

Something about her puzzled him, something he was, for once, struggling to work out. He understood that it was linked to her travels in some way. What was it?

God, he hated not knowing. It was so frustrating!

The day soon passed and he thought long into the night. There was nothing else to do. Not having a case was starting to get to him.

Amy had spent most of her time in her room thinking things through, over and over. No way had she expected this when she moved in. However intimidated she may have felt to start with, she truly was baffled by Sherlock's knowledge of her. He knew almost everything about her; she knew very little about him. Perhaps it was time to start doing some digging of her own. She still needed to ask about the fingers in the fridge.

It eventually hit her that once again she was no longer back in the 'normal world' like she thought she had been. She supposed that her life would never be normal again after everything with the Doctor. After spending only a day at 221b she had noticed a number of oddities. She should know by now that nothing was ever as it seems, especially on Earth. It was the strangest place of them all.

At one in the morning, the list of odd things she had so far discovered in the flat grew more. Ear piercing bangs coming from the room next door startled her from her slumber. Now she was no expert but the bangs sounded a lot like gun shots.

"What the hell?" she gasped, leaping out of bed in a heartbeat to see what was going on. Panic stricken, she raced into the living room.

Covering her ears from the blows she came across Sherlock firing bullets at the wall, one after the other, without a single care in the world.

"What are you doing?!"

"I'm bored," he replied and carried on. "Bored."

Wincing at the loud gunfire, Amy moved from the door towards him. Grabbing his arm firmly she managed to stop him, and then yanked the gun from his grip. "Well be bored quietly."

"I have another one."

Glaring at him, she positioned the weapon a little towards his chest as a warning. "If you don't stop, I will shove this gun where the sun doesn't shine." He remained silent as she moved away; removing what was left of the bullets from the gun. "Some of us are trying to sleep-"

"Urgh, sleeping is dull."

"- and I need to be up early enough sin I can find a job," she continued, dismissing his moaning.

"What else am I supposed to do?" he groaned as he slumped down into his chair with a heavy sigh.

"I don't know. Read a book? Anything that doesn't damage anyone's hearing."

Sherlock scanned Amy up and down, seeing the tired and annoyed appearance that she carried on her face. "You're mad at me."

"Yes, I'm mad at you; mad at you for firing a gun at stupid 'o' clock!"

"No." He stood up and slowly approached her. "I meant about earlier."

She glanced away from him, setting her eyes to the floor for a while. "I'm not mad, I'm just -"

"It's fine, I'm used to it. People normally tell me to piss off and mind my own business."

So, he's done this to other people, too?

"I just don't understand how you can know all of that." Her eyes finally cast upon him. "The model part I can understand; a lot of people recognise me from adverts in magazines. But everything else -"

"The travelling?"

"Yea- no, yes, but I mean my marriage. How did you know it's over when I haven't told anyone about that?"

"I didn't know, I noticed." He saw her frown and guessed that he should explain. People always wanted him to explain. "There is a visible white band around your finger. It's slightly paler that the rest of your skin, suggesting you once wore a ring - a wedding ring which you have obviously now removed. That, plus the fact that when your phone rang earlier you seemed to hesitate and your expression saddened. The name 'Rory' flashed up on the screen; it was hardly a difficult leap to make."

"But how did you know I had left him?"

"Because people are sentimental. If he'd left you, you would have kept your ring on. Most do."

Taking a step back, Amy took a minute to digest the information. She didn't want to talk about her marriage anymore. She could feel the hurt and guilt, all of the things she had felt when she left Rory, returning to her.

"What about the rest?" she questioned. Now she was more intrigued than anything else.

Sherlock explained all he could, much to her amazement. He explained how he knew she had been a mother; how she had been travelling by her skin complexion and suitcase; how her travels had been with a friend and had been adventurous.

"What makes you think my trip was adventurous?" she tested.

"Because your body it toned indicating you've been keeping active. You have the legs of a runner."

"Well, someone has been looking haven't they," she muttered with a hint of a smirk.

Without a word, Sherlock swiftly moved back to his chair and sat down, staring up at the ceiling.

Tugging on her lip, Amy collected her thoughts. No-one had read her so well before. The hurt she had experienced when she learned that he knew of her relationship with Rory no longer bothered her so much. She was more overcome with astonishment.

She made to leave, only to then stop in her tracks. "You can tell all of that purely by looking?"

Placing his hands in a prayer position, Sherlock glanced sideways at her, nodding.

"Right... That - was -"

"Amazing? Incredible? Fantastic? Brilliant?"

"Now hang on, Mr-Show-Off, who's to say I was going to say any of those things?"

"John did. I recognised your tone of voice - it's like the one he used - so I assumed -"

"I'm not John." She smirked again. "Actually, I was going to say that was pretty good, but if you would prefer brilliant or fantastic -"

"No, pretty good is fine - wait, pretty good?"

"There are some things you missed."

"Like what?"

Saying nothing, she turned on her heels, leaving him to work it out. "I'm keeping this," she said as she walked out of the room. He definitely hadn't realised that she spent a few years travelling around in a blue police box through time and space.


	5. Chapter 5

**(( OMG I am so sorry that this chapter has only just been posted. I have been so busy I haven't had time to upload anything. But here it is!**

**Thanks for the reviews so far, keep them coming. ))**

The following day wasn't as exciting. Mrs Hudson kindly made tea for Amy that morning, all while ranting at Sherlock for firing his blasted gun in the early hours and not cleaning up, then Amy headed out in an attempt to find a job. If she didn't start looking now she might not in the future.

No such luck.

When she got back at the flat, Mrs Hudson informed the red head of a part-time job at the cafe next door. Amy definitely took it into consideration - it might be her only for now.

The next day was the same to start with. She didn't entirely mind the continuous job searching; she enjoyed the walked around Westminster. London wasn't a place she had been to that often. Only a few times had she visited the great city with the Doctor, and most of those times hadn't always been in the present day. It was a lively, charismatic place with some incredible architecture and enlightening places to visit. She loved it!

It was when she started walking back to 221b that things started to differ from the previous day. As she reached Baker Street a black car pulled up alongside her, slowly. At first she thought nothing of it.

"Amelia Pond."

A male's voice stopped Amy in her tracks. For a second she paused, and then turned on her heels. A tough-looking guy stood at the side of the car, dressed smartly in a suit. He looked like some kind of secret agent out of James Bond.

"Who are you?"

There was not much of an expression on the man's razor cut features. "There is no time for questions, Miss Pond. Get into the car."

"Why?"

"Get into the car, Miss Pond."

Apprehensively, she did as was requested, muttering; "A please would be nice."

Another man inside the car slipped a blindfold over her eyes, leaving her subjected to total darkness for no less than half an hour. It was therefore impossible for her to know where she was going.

A thought hit her: was she being kidnapped? These men could be dangerous criminals for all she knew. Even though she remained calm she couldn't help but think about what might happen to her later on. It couldn't be good...

Then she had another thought: if she was being kidnapped, wouldn't they have just taken her? Straight from the street without muttering a single word? Then again, with the public around, snatching her would be too obvious.

I'm not being kidnapped, don't be silly, Amy.

When the blindfold was lifted, she saw that she was sat at a long, narrow table in what appeared to be a boardroom. It was grandly decorated. Bookshelves lined both walls on either side. A chandelier hung in the centre of the ceiling and a window was situated to the far end of the room, right in front of her. Whoever owned this place must be very rich.

While she had been looking around, a man of medium height, smartly dressed and holding an authoritive posture, entered. In his hand was a briefcase that he placed on the table. "Amelia Pond, I believe." He took a seat two seats away from her. "Or do you prefer Amy?"

"Yes..." she spoke after clearing her throat. Curiosity swam in her eyes.

"I am pleased you decided to come."

"I don't think I had that much of a choice."

"No," he chuckled. "I suppose you didn't."

"Why am I here?"

"There are, Miss Pond, some matters I wish to discuss with you. One which is of great importance, and perhaps great interest to you."

Her brow furrowed and he continued. "I believe you have moves into 221b Baker Street."

"How do -"

"How is it?" A smile curled at his mouth gradually.

"Who are you?"

He sighed, standing up, moving over to a cabinet where he poured himself a drink. "It does not matter who I am. Just answer the question, Amy."

Swallowing, she shifted in her seat. "It's fine."

"What about your flatmate?"

"Yea, he's fine, too. Everything is fine. I don't under-"

"So you haven't noticed anything unusual then?" he questioned, sitting back down. He knew who this woman was and what she wanted to know simply by examining her. "No police outside the flat? Body parts in the kitchen? Gun fire in the early hours of the morning?" He smirked.

"Actually, I did find fingers in the fridge-"

"I could imagine."

"-and I did have to confiscate his gun this yesterday morning. He doesn't seem to talk much, either. He can be quite rude at times, too."

"That sounds like Sherlock."

Amy leaned forward, elbows resting on the table and her chin resting on her hands. "I get the impression that you know him."

"A lot of people know Sherlock. Or know about him at least. Except you don't it appears."

"Is he some kind of criminal?"

This made the man laugh. He could be. People often mistake him for one sometimes. "Quite the opposite."

Inhaling deeply, he opened the brief case. "I assume you are curious to know more. Let me help you with that. You may want to read these." He handed her a pile of paper that had been pulled from the brief case, which she took. The headline 'Suicide Of Fake Genius' immediately grasped her attention. "They may come in handy," the man added.

They were articles. Amy scanned through the first and second pages, very much aware that the man's eyes were on her the whole time. The first article was about the suicide of the consulting detective, Sherlock Holmes. The second was about someone called James Moriarty who had stood trial for attempting to steal the Crown Jewels. Sherlock Holmes had stood against him in court.

"I take it the information I have given you has answered any questions you may have had," the man interrupted.

"Yeah... Some of them. Only now I have more questions."

"He faked his death."

Amy suddenly lifted her head to face him. It was as if he had read her mind. "How?"

"All will become clear when you read the next page. I took the liberty to write up an explanation to clear up any confusion. But read it in your own time, if you will."

She put the papers down. "This is all I was brought her for? Just so you can give me these? Why are you telling me all of this?"

"Because Sherlock wont. And you have a right to know who you are living with and what you are letting yourself in for. When you walk with Sherlock Holmes you see the battlefield. Of course, you've seen it already, although I doubt very much that it's the kind of battlefield people would expect. Sherlock Holmes is a dangerous man, Amy."

"I'm not scared of dangerous men," she replied firmly.

"No, you're not. Although, I didn't quite mean it like that. He's a danger to himself."

"You're telling me this because..?"

"I want you to keep an eye on him for me, if you will. He is reckless, Amy, and obsessed with his work. Factors which almost destroyed him last time. He needs someone to keep him on the straight and narrow. We'd do not want a repeat of previous events. With John now living away from Sherlock you are the closest person to him."

"Okay, but why can't you keep an eye on him?"

The man stalled for a moment, his index finger tracing the rim of the glass in front of him. "I have a busy job…"

"Fair enough. It's nice to know you are concerned about your brother, at least."

Surprise washed over his features. "I never said anything about him being my brother."

"You didn't have to. I'm not a complete expert when it comes to families but I know family concern when I see it. And you've written your name that third page. Mycroft Holmes. A bit of a giveaway."

Silence started to creep in. The sound of Amy collecting all the papers up broke it. "Is that all?" she asked, standing to leave. "I need to get back."

The man stood as well. "Don't let me keep you, by all means. But before you go." He called out for someone. The man from before entered, blindfold in his hand, which Amy notice and she knew what was coming next.

"Is the blindfold really necessary?"

"It is if you want to keep your life," Mycroft answered bluntly. "This building is top secret."

With that, Amy's vision disappeared for a while until she was finally dropped off at Baker Street. It had been an enlightening encounter with Mycroft Holmes.


	6. Chapter 6

**((Once again I apologise for the wait. I will get quicker at posting chapters eventually, I just don't get much access to a PC as much as I'd like D: Anyway, I hope you enjoy this chapter. I have written more chapters and they will be posted once they have been chacked for mistakes and cut down a bit as they are rather long haha**

**Again, thanks for all the reviews so far. I am glad you're liking the story. Keep them coming. And you know, I don't mind some critisism. It can only help me improve my writing. :) ))**

The articles Mycroft had given Amy proved to be very informative. They answered many of the questions that had been floating around in her head, and explained why Sherlock seemed, in some ways, a tad eccentric.

So, he was a consulting detective who solved crimes for the police and clients who came to him for help. John Watson, his former flatmate, had often assisted. A man, who called himself a consulting criminal, James Moriarty showed up, and, from what Amy had gathered, caused problems for Sherlock; resulting in his fake death just over a year ago. The reason why and how Sherlock had faked his death had all been explained thoroughly by Mycroft in the papers. Amy was surprised when Molly's name popped up, explaining she had a part in it.

The papers also included recent articles on the discovery that Sherlock was alive. It all made for an exhilarating read - it was like reading a best-selling crime novel.

Mycroft has also attached two web addresses to the information. Despite it being late at night Amy couldn't resist having a look. After pulling her laptop from under the bed she made herself comfy between the sheets and typed in the first address.

'The Science of Deduction' - Sherlock's website. It was fascinating! She suddenly got a better understanding of how he worked in a sense as she read through his case notes analysis on different types of tobacco ash.

The next was John Watson's blog and Amy found it nigh on impossible to tear her eyes away from it. The more she read the more she realised how much she was letting herself in for - something Mycroft had wanted her to know.

Morning arrived. Amy hadn't slept a wink. She hadn't even noticed the time until she heard footsteps in the hallway. Two sets of footsteps. Two voices. One was Sherlock's; the other's she didn't recognise.

Amy groaned when saw it was nine am. The curtains had stopped any light pouring in so the room was still dark. She was soon out of her room. "I'll be there," she heard Sherlock say, briefly catching a glimpse of someone sweep past down the stairs.

"Who was that?" she asked as she joined Sherlock in the living room, unexpectedly yawning.

"The police," he said bluntly.

"You have a case?"

Hold on, has he missed something? All of a sudden Amy knew what he was and yesterday she didn't...

"Yes."

"It couldn't have come a better time," she muttered to herself but Sherlock still heard her.

"How so?" He frowned.

"I met your brother yesterday."

Hearing this, Sherlock rolled his eyes. Typical Mycroft, he can't keep his beak out of anything. "I wondered how long it would be before he started interfering again. Three weeks. I think that's a new record."

"He told me about what you do - a consulting detective. He gave me some things to read. I read them last night. Newspaper articles. Your website. John's blog."

"Let me guess, Mycroft also asked you to keep an eye on me, as well."

"Yeah... That, too."

"More like he wants you to spy on me."

"Why would he do that?"

"Like I said, he can't stop interfering."

"You know, John made the cases you'd both undertaken sound rather impressive," she continued, changing the subject of Mycroft to something she wanted to talk about. "I'd like to see for myself," she hinted.

"You want to come?"

"If it's not too much trouble..."

"I'm not sure it's really your things..."

"Oh, come on, when you met me you noticed I was adventurous." She grinned. "It's totally my thing."

"You're not dressed yet..."

"Give me a few minutes and I will be."

_But she's not John_. After inhaling deeply Sherlock sighed, surrendering to her enthusiasm. "It seems as if I don't have much of a choice."

"No, you don't." Amy celebrated with a grin and sped off to change. The fact that she had had no sleep had eluded her. She was raring to go!

They took a cab to the crime scene in Kensington and Chelsea. Despite heavy traffic they arrived in a matter of minutes. The snow was starting to melt. Hopefully the worst of the crap weather was over.

Outside a row of posh white houses were police cars and two ambulances. The road had been sectioned off but that didn't stop the odd spectator from gathering to see what was going on.

"Who is this?" DI Lestrade asked when he saw Amy arriving with Sherlock.

"She's with me," Sherlock said bluntly.

"I didn't authorize this."

"No, I did."

With a sigh, Lestrade let it go. He should know by now that Sherlock did as he pleased quite often. "Is she John's replacement then? Have you been feeling lonely?" he teased.

"Hey," Amy butted in, "I am nobody's replacement!"

Lestrade half smiled, half smirked. She seemed feisty. "Right." Leading the pair into the house he explained what the police had found so far in the half an hour they had been there. It wasn't long before Sherlock and Amy were faced with the scene themselves.

A man casually dressed laid face down on the living room floor by a wide open window. For that reason the room was very cold. It looked as if he had tried to get in through the window, but had tripped and fallen. A robber?

While Amy had been digesting the scene Sherlock had slipped on gloves and was examining the body. The victim's head was almost smashed in, blood still oozing from the back of his scalp. He'd been hit hard with something. But the murder weapon was nowhere to be seen.

Searching the man's pockets he found a wallet and keys; an ID badge, too, which displayed a photo and the name 'Jeremy Ripsher'. Sherlock tossed it over to Lestrade.

A banging noise from the hallway made Amy jump suddenly. Peering around the door frame she saw two officers breaking a door down. Lestrade went to join them. If the door was locked then there was something being hidden from them.

Amy saw the Sherlock had flown over to the open window. She observed as he ran his fingers along the frame of the window with deep concentration. The red head did her own examination of the room. Circling the walls she tried to take in as much as she could. Perhaps the beautifully furnished room held extra clues other than those on and around the dead man.

Noticing photos turned face down on the fireplace she instinctively looked at them. The man was in the photos with a blonde woman and young boy. It looked like an old photo, taken some years ago. "He lived here."

"Clearly," Sherlock answered, spinning around to face her. "There's a luggage bag outside. It's quite a fair distance away from this window and judging by its size it would have been a bit too heavy to throw that far from here. So it's likely that it was thrown from a height. I'd say upstairs."

"He was being thrown out," she muttered. That made sense. Then she spotted paper on the floor. Reading the first few lines she realised that the papers were divorce papers. They soon reminded her of her own marriage. "These are signed by a 'Louise Ripsher' but there's no sign of his signature." She showed Sherlock.

"Broken marriage. How predictable..."

"She must have thrown him out, only he tried to get back in through the window she killed him..." It seemed like a logical explanation to her.

There was the sound of a door being broken into and they were both off to see what had been found. Sherlock thought there was something more to this than just an estranged couple's argument. It seemed like he was right when they entered the locked dining room.


	7. Chapter 7

**((Right, here it is! The seventh chapter! Woohoo! Sorry to keep you all waiting so long. I promise that I will be updating this fic more from now on. I finally managed to get the next two chapters edited so they will be up soon. Enjoy!**

**R & R.**

**All criticism is welcome. Anything to keep me writing and make me improve. :D ))**

In the locked room a woman laid dead on the floor. It was obvious that she had committed suicide because there were pills dotted around on the floor beside her, as well as a small bottle resting in her limp hand.

When Amy had gone to see what the police had found she saw that Sherlock was already examing the body, Lestrade towering over him, waiting for an answer while other members of the team searched the room. Amy decided to join in with the search.

"She must have killed him," piped up Anderson. Sherlock hadn't even noticed his presence. Nothing new there, then.

"What makes you say that?" asked the consulting detective, straightening himself up.

"Why else would she commit suicide?"

While she was searching through draws Amy was listening to the conversation.

Anderson continued. "They had an argument, she killed him; she felt guilty so she locked herself in here and took her own life. We've seen this before."

Sherlock sighed. "As always, Anderson, you manage to amaze me with your stupidity. It's not as simple as that. It's nice that you're trying, though. Enough for a gold star, I believe -"

"No," Amy interrupted. "It isn't." She had spotted something. A clue, perhaps. Outside in the hallway, on a small table, were a set of keys. She slipped on white gloves like she was supposed to. "Wait in there. I want to try something." Closing the door from outside the room she tested each of the four keys in turn until, eventually, one of them locked the door. Unlocking it, she walked back in. "This must be the key used to lock this door. If she had locked herself in then the keys would surely be inside the room. Someone locked her in here."

"There could be another set of keys in here," replied Anderson who was determined not to be proven wrong by 'armatures'.

Sherlock agreed with Amy and supported her conclusion completely. "There is no point searching, you won't find anymore keys. It's obvious this woman has been locked in here. If you care to examine her properly you will find that she has been dead longer than the man in the other room. It is not possible for her to have killed him. Unless she somehow remarkably came back from the dead."

"What, like you did?" Anderson said snidely, creating a tense silence.

"Someone else was here." With that, Sherlock flitted out of the room. Footsteps could be heard plodding up the stairs seconds later.

"I think the argument part might be true," said Amy, breaking the awkward silence, and everyone's stares fell from Anderson and onto her. Her eyes flickered between Lestrade and Anderson. Pulling the divorce papers from her pocket she gave them to Lestrade. "I have an inkling - just an inkling - that this is the reason why this happened...somehow."

Lestrade nodded, scanning the paper. "Perhaps. But if what Sherlock says is true and someone else was here then that changed the situation. This might not have anything to do with it."

"You do know he was being thrown out, right?"

"Yes, we've seen the luggage bag."

"Then doesn't that tell you that he wasn't wanted in the house? I think you should look for their son."

"Their son?"

"Yeah. There are photos of a teenage boy in the living room. I take it he's their son. You know who these people are - their names are on that paper. Find their son and see if he knows anything or had anything to do with this." Her gut instinct was telling her that he did.

Lestrade was going to speak only Sherlock had propelled back into the room. "The TV had been left on in one of the upstairs rooms and the window has been left wide open. There are two luggage bags in there as well. Someone _was_ here. They've been living here. My guess is they did it otherwise they would be here now. Guilty conscious - it always makes people run. I'll leave you all to it; I've got things to do. I'll be in touch in a few hours."

"Sherlock?!"

However Sherlock was off. Without thinking, Amy followed after him, trying her best to keep up with his wide strides as he left the house into the open air. "Where are you going? You can't abandon a case whenever you feel like it!"

He smiled vaguely. "I'm not." Amy saw him delve his hand into his coat pocket. "I found this" - he held up an ID badge - "in the luggage in the spare bedroom."

"D-do you think he's the murderer?"

"No, I know he's the murderer."

"How?"

"Television left on. Window wide open. Coat and keys forgotten. Drain pipe broken away from the wall. The signs of a quick escape."

"Shouldn't you tell the police?"

"Oh, I like letting them work things out for themselves. It makes for great entertainment." He was now walking much quicker.

"So, you're going to find this man?"

"Yes."

"Don't you care that it might be dangerous?"

"Not really. And I don't think you do either, Amy."

He was right about that. Amy had faced danger more times than she could count. Had it deterred her from travelling the first time? No. In fact, she had loved it. Experienced a thrill she had never experienced before.

"You know, you remind me of someone. My friend..." she mused but he didn't reply. "I'm coming with you."

"There's no need."

"Maybe not, but what happens if you need rescuing?"

"I won't. I will be perfectly fine thanks."

"I've heard that before," she laughed.


	8. Chapter 8

**(( Another chapter. Woohoo! This resolves the case they are on now. I think I may have resolved the case a bit too quickly, but I felt like I should get things moving on a bit to the better stuff.**

**Rate and review! Tell me what you think. What you like, what you don't like, what I can do to improve. It's all good. A**

**Anyway. Enjoy! ))**

A cab had taken them to a huge building on the outskirts of London. The company where Richard Soot worked, the company that had its name printed in bold black letters on the ID badge. It was a computer firm and a busy one; as Amy and Sherlock walked through the corridors to the manager's office no end of smartly dressed people by.

"Finding the killer will be easy," stated Sherlock. "After all, it's not really an interesting case."

Then why are you doing it, Amy thought. Though, she shouldn't complain. She had wanted to see what Sherlock did, now she was. "If you're going to leg it from a crime scene, the last place you would run to is where you work," she said as they reached the manager's office.

Sherlock knocked on the door, saying nothing. Of course, he knew that, but he had a plan. He was confident it would work.

The door opened and the pair found themselves being led into the office by Mr Thundercliffe - a smartly dressed, arrogant, wealthy man. There was very little in the way of an introduction, Sherlock just cut to the chase, all while scanning every inch of the dull and depressing office.

"We're looking for Richard Soot. There has been an incident involving the people he has been staying with and we're wondering if he may know anything."

"He's not here," Thundercliffe boomed, "it's his week off. He works hard, that man. Too hard. Stresses himself out too much."

"Do you know where he might be?" Amy asked.

"No idea. I don't know the ins and outs of my employee's personal lives. I am only interested in what they do at work."

"Can you call him for us? I'm assuming you have his number," said Sherlock.

Thundercliffe nodded, walking to the phone. "What should I say?"

"Anything related to work. Something that isn't suspicious. Just make sure you ask him where he is. Sound interested."

While the manager was on the phone, Amy slid up alongside Sherlock, arms folded. "Are you sure you have the right man?"

"I wouldn't be here is I wasn't." He glanced at her sideways when she glanced at him. "I know what you're thinking."

"What am I thinking?"

"You thought it was their son."

"It could be."

"No, no, no, he's at university. I noticed letters from Oxford when I search one of the rooms. He's miles away."

"Right..."

"Easy assumption to make." An easy assumption for someone with a placid mind to make. He shouldn't be too hard on Amy. She had been useful. "Good spot with the keys, though."

A smile perched on her pale lips.

"You helped me prove my point."

"And there I was thinking you were about to say you missed that clue and thank me for finding it," she sighed.

"I never miss anything."

"If you say so."

"He said he's in a coffee shop in Knightsbridge," interrupted Thundercliffe.

That narrows is down, thought Sherlock sarcastically. "Which one?"

The manager shrugged.

"It's better than nothing, I supposed," the detective sighed. "We need to hurry before he moves," he told Amy, who nodded in agreement.

Instead, she was the one thanking the manager for his help because Sherlock flew out of the office and through the corridors, out of the building. It was a job to keep up with him.

Knightsbridge was busy, bustling with life. "Okay, now what do we do?" Amy frowned while she scanned the array of shops. Sherlock was already entering the nearest one.

"We search all of them until we find our man," he replied.

They spent a good half an hour searching. Amy's initial suggestion was that they split up to save time only to be reminded that the man they were looking for was the potential murderer.

I've faced plenty of murderers in my time. Alien murderers.

Eventually, in a popular coffee shop halfway down the road, they found Richard Soot - sitting in the corner sipping warily from a flimsy paper cup. As Sherlock observed him - all while pretending to order something (as if he was actually going to buy it!) - He noticed how uneasy Soot seemed to be. A classic tell-tale sign. The guilty conscience of an unintentional killer.

At one point, it appeared he checked a text, and then made to leave. As he did, Sherlock caught the brown-bearded man by the arm. "I think this belongs to you," he whispered, forcing into Richard Soot's hand his ID card.

"Where did you get that?!" Soot scanned the man who had stopped him. Realising he was Sherlock Holmes, that detective who had been in the papers for a few years, he made a run for it. Sherlock Holmes knew what he had done. This wasn't what he had expected. This wasn't good.

"Get after him!" Sherlock dragged Amy with him out of the shop, not apologising when he pushed past people who stopped to complain.

"That's definitely him?"

"The photo on the ID card doesn't lie. Now come on!"

Racing after Sherlock who was racing after Richard Soot, Amy made her best attempt to dodge people along the many streets they turned into. This takes me back, the voice inside her head sang, reminding her of the countless times she had spent running after people - or aliens, or other things - and running away from, with the Doctor.

To her surprise, she managed to gradually keep pace with her flatmate. He was quick, but then he'd need to be wouldn't he? Her breathing became heavy and her heart pounded hard against her ribcage. It was just like old time.

At Regent's Park, Sherlock finally caught Soot.

"I 'aven't done anythin'!"

"Really?" That's what they all say. "Amy, phone Lestrade. The number's in the contacts. Tell him not to bother wasting anymore brain cells and get down here now." He threw her his phone, which she almost didn't catch as she was too focused on getting her breath back.

"Then why did you run?" the detective continued, facing Soot. He had the man forced against the railings of the park so he couldn't escape.

"Lovely day for a jog," Soot shrugged.

Sherlock pushed him back harder.

"Alright, alright!" Soot protested.

"You killed Jeremy Ripsher."

"Look, I dint mean to. I only intended to know 'im out for an 'our or two. I 'it 'im too 'ard. But 'e was 'assling my sister, alright! She killed 'erself 'cause of that bastard! When I think about it, 'e probably deserved it! After what 'e's done to 'er. I've just lost my sister an' you wanna throw me in jail?!"

After Lestrade and another cop Amy didn't catch the name of arrived, Amy and Sherlock began briskly walking back to Baker Street.

"I suppose that was a doddle to you," she commented.

"It was hardly mind-blowing. It was Mycroft's attempt at keeping me occupied." He showed Amy a text he had just received from his brother. "It worked for a bit."

"Why do you do this stuff?"

"Well, why not? It's interesting and, occasionally, fun; and everything else is dull."

Amy agreed with most of that. "So, you had that case worked out from the moment we left the crime scene."

Sherlock vaguely smiled.

"So, what happened?"

"There is always tension between some couples getting divorced and there was probably enough tension between Jeremy and Louise Ripsher to drive them to their deaths. He was an alcoholic and she was depressed. Not exactly a match made in heaven. She found the pressure of trying to keep her husband's drinking habit at bay too much and he struggled to cope with her moods. Richard Soot, however - Louise's brother - was the most likely cause of all of this. It was obvious that he disliked his brother-in-law. He did his keep his sister away from him, especially during the divorce. Then, earlier this morning, there was an argument between husband and wife. He left for work, she took her own life."

"And Soot?"

"Upstairs the whole time I imagine, watching television on full volume. I suspect he was trying to drown out the argument. When he came down he saw his sister lying dead. After locking in the room he packed a bag full of Ripsher's things and threw the luggage out of the bedroom window when Ripsher returned and locked all the doors. Ripsher tried to get back inside through the living room window, only for Soot to hit him around the head with a metal pole."

"But there was no weapon..."

"There was. Sticking out of the outside bin. I noticed it when I walked out of the house. It had blood on it. I'm surprised no-one else saw it considering it was in the most obvious place."

"You were never told any of this." Amy sounded impressed.

"Like I said before, Amy, I observe everything."

"Then you piece everything together using what you've seen."

"Exactly."


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: ((Big apologies for being so late with the update! I've been so busy with my last months at college and my computer kinda broke yada yada yada... you don't need to hear about my life haha! Anyway, I have still been writing (Pondlock is the only thing I can think about right now) and I will try to get those chapters up a.s.a.p. **

**This might seem like a pointless chapter, but I felt that I needed to bring our favorite army doctor into the story, and it leads up to the next chapter. **

**But enough of me rambling on. Enjoy! **

**As always, feel free to R & R, follow, favorite, criticise, whatever. You guys keep me writing!))**

There had been no more cases since. The rest of the week dragged by slowly. It was very boring for Sherlock. At least he had his many types of pharmaceutical drugs to experiment on to keep his brain from rusting.

For Amy, however, things had been a bit livelier. She has taken the part-time job in the cafe next door after having no look elsewhere; and she was surprised at how interesting it was. There were all sorts of people popping in and out during the hours that she worked, each with their own little stories to tell to her, or someone they were meeting inside, or on the phone. Admittedly, she wasn't earning as much money as she would have liked but it was a start, at least, and she enjoyed the job. It made a change from her previous ventures. And it was definitely better than doing nothing.

Yet ut wasn't as good as solving crimes with Sherlock Holmes.

For once, all thoughts of the Doctor hadn't crossed her mind. Now she was thinking about Sherlock and his job. Or was it a hobby?

Working on that case with Sherlock a few days ago was completely diff- actually, perhaps not that different after all. The thinking, the mystery, stopping bad guys, oh and the running!

It was exactly like the things Amy had experienced before! Except without the aliens and the time travel part of it.

One thing she had picked up from Sherlock was noticing things. She was now noticing things she wouldn't normally have noticed before. Rings. Paper sticking out of pockets. Tiny scratches on walls. It started to come naturally to her, even if she still found it hard to figure out something about someone without being told. That, she reckoned, would take ages to mater.

Midway through Amy's second week at 221b someone turned up. A man - blonde, wearing a black coat and hand - was stood outside the flat just as Amy arrived back from the shops carrying bags.

The timing couldn't have been more perfect; it looked like he had just arrived.

"Hi. Can I help you?"

The male faced Amy with a hint of confusion, taking a tiny step back. Amy realised this, then smiled widely. "It's okay, I live here," she stated.

"Oh..." He nodded in realisation. "You must be Sherlock's new flatmate."

"That's me. Amy Pond."

"John Watson. Hi."

"I'd shake your hand but, yeah..." She glanced down at the bags she was only just managing to hold and laughed.

He laughed slightly, too. "Is Sherlock in?"

"He should be. Is he not answering?"

"Don't worry, this is normal."

"Luckily, I'm here. Hold on." It took Amy a while but she managed to open the door with her hands full. As she stepped aside to let John in, he kindly offered to take one of the bags from her. She thanked him, and they headed upstairs. They passed Mrs Hudson on the way. The landlady was extremely pleased to see John.

Sherlock seemed to smile more than Amy had ever seen him. _Total liar, Mr Holmes, you do miss John_. Not even John's presence, though, could draw him away from his microscopic lens.

John wasn't at all bothered by it; it was what he was used to and didn't expect anything less of his friend. It didn't bother him when Sherlock moaned at him for accidentally knocking over science equipment on the kitchen table while helping Amy unload the shopping either. It was like living there all over again, something which he undeniably missed, despite living happily with Mary. "How are you settling in?" John asked Amy. They sat opposite each other with tea.

"Fine. I mean, it was a tad strange to start with - I'm not used to big cities - but I like it here. And Sherlock is absolutely charming."

John noted the sarcasm. "He certainly has a great way with the ladies - with everyone in fact," he chuckled. "Have you had gunfire in the early morning yet?"

"Yes - on my first night here. No-one warned me about that."

"We'll have to put a warning in his ad for a new flatmate if you ever decide to move out."

"Yes. 'Warning, bring ear plugs'... Or something. Oh, and 'Must be used to seeing random body parts in random places in flat'."

"You've experienced that, too."

"Yup - Fingers in the fridge."

"It could have been worse. He had a head in there once. An _actual_ severed head. No food, just that."

"Urgh..."

"I am still here, I haven't left," interrupted Sherlock from behind them.

In an hour, John and Amy did all the talking, generally just getting to know each other. John was how Amy had imagined him; kind, easy to get on with, well informed - he was the complete opposite of Sherlock. Maybe that's why they had worked so well as friends.

When Sherlock eventually came to join them, John moved the conversation to Sherlock's preferred subject. "Only one," he told John when he was asked if he had any cases since the last time tgey saw each other. "Last week."

"Anything interesting?"

"Hardly. It was average."

"I thought it was pretty interesting actually," interjected Amy, who was checking a text message she had received. 'Where are you?' from Rory. Her mood dropped.

Sherlock was rambling. "...it was my brother's attempt at keeping me entertained for a bit, but it was really for Amy's benefit, to show her what I do. The case itself barely scratched the surface."

"You went with Sherlock?" John turned to Amy.

Amy smirked. "He didn't have much of a choice."

John was keen to know what the case was about and Amy was equally as keen to tell him, except her phone started ringing and she excused herself from the room. Low and behold it was Rory. She knew she had to take it. He had been ringing several times and would continue to do so until she picked up.

"I told you not to call me," she spoke quietly with the phone pressed hard to her ear.

"Amy! I know, I know, but I want to talk to you..."

"Rory..."

"I need to talk to you."

"About what?"

"It's important."

There was a lot of noise on the other end of the phone that Amy could hear. A distinct sound of an engine and chug-chug-chugging distracted her. "Is that a train? Rory, where are you?"

"Charing Cross station."

"What? Why?"

"To see you." Then he dropped the bombshell and his voice quivered slightly. He didn't want to say it. "And give you the divorce papers..."

Hearing that broke Amy. Obviously, she still loved Rory. The love wasn't going to go away just like that, not after everything they had been through, all those years spent together. Even though she knew this was going to happen eventually it was still somewhat of a shock to her system. "Right," she managed to say.

"Can we meet up then?" Rory sounded really disheartened.

"Uhm, yes..."

"Okay. When? And where?"

"I don't know. I'll text you."

"Today, though, yeah?"

"Tomorrow."

"But-"

"Tomorrow, Rory."

"Fine."

He was the one who hung up.

Amy stood in the hallway clutching at her phone with her eyes closed in an attempt to fight back the tears. Taking a deep breath, she composed herself as best as she could, trying to free herself from the guilt and upset that lingered in her stomach. In no way was she upset with Rory, she was upset with herself. Because she was hurting him.


	10. Chapter 10

**((Here it is, chapter 10 at last!**

**I am sorry you've all had to wait so long for this to be posted. I have been mega busy… But I have still kept writing this, because I love it, and because you people reading it keep me writing. I have plans for this and don't worry, the Pondlock will happen eventually. I'm actually onto writing that now. Hopefully it shouldn't be too long until it's posted. ))**

Tomorrow turned into today.

It was the day Amy had been constantly thinking about all through the night as well as her shift at the cafe. She quit trying to tell herself it wouldn't be as bad as she thought. Who was she kidding? Her marriage to the man she loved was about to come to an end. What could be worse than that? She had briefly had second thoughts, almost considering forgetting the divorce and starting anew with Rory - only the niggling voice in her head told her not to. That niggling voice was right. It wouldn't be fair on him, so she stuck to her original decision.

They had arranged to meet at a cafe in the Charing Cross area after Amy had finished work, mid-afternoon. She walked there (thinking helped clear her head) and arrived late because Rory was already there, impatiently drumming his fingers on the table. Though, as soon as he noticed her arrive, he was instantly rising to his feet.

"Do you want a coffee o-?"

"No. No coffee," she hurried, sitting down. "Let's just get this over with."

"You have to buy something if you're going to stay."

"Fine - a coffee then. Please?" To Rory, she came across as cold, like she didn't want to be there. To be honest, he didn't, so why should she?

She muttered her thanks when her estranged husband returned with her coffee and sat down opposite her with his own steaming away. "Sorry, I didn't mean to sound...bitchy." Then she pursed her lips apologetically.

"I- right... It's fin-"

"No, it isn't-"

"I understand. I don't want to be her either."

"Then why didn't you post the papers on to me?"

"I would-" Rory realised how loudly he was speaking (people were staring) so he lowered his voice. "I would have if I knew your address. You haven't told me where you live now."

"With good reason. If I told you, you'd be there constantly trying to persuade me to come back."

People were watching again at Amy's sudden outburst.

"Alright," he began, hushed, "I get it. Look, we're not here to argue, are we? Let's...be grown up about this..." From his pocket he pulled out and unfolded an envelope that he pushed in Amy's direction.

Taking it, she pried out the papers, scanning them. "You haven't signed."

"No. I thought we could s-sign them together, you know...then that way we know that we've both signed." It was obvious he was nervous. His hands were shaking and she noticed how he was trying to mask that by fiddling with objects on the table.

She breathed heavily. "Fair enough."

"Who signs first..?"

"I will. Pen?"

There was a biro on another table that someone had left. Rory took it and handed it to her. She put it to the paper, above the daunting line she had to sign. For a short second she hesitated._ Think about what you're doing, Amy! Are you sure this is the right choice? This could well be the beginning of the end for you. You could be messing up your life._

No. It is the right thing to do. For Rory.

She swiftly signed her name.

Rory looked at her with disdain. "You actually...did it..."

"You thought I wouldn't? You were hoping that I would change my mind?" She slid the papers his way. "Your turn."

It took him much longer to sign the document, just like she knew it would. When Rory married her, not once did he imagine that this would happen. He imagined they would grow old together, happy, with a family and good jobs.

"Are you sure thi-?"

She sighed heavily, running her slender fingers through her hair, clutching at the strands. "Please, Rory, don't do this to me," she groaned in frustration.

"Oh, that's right. I forgot. It's _always_ about Amy." He sounded as equally as frustrated as she had.

"Have you got any idea of what this is doing to me?"

"We've been through this-"

"Have you?"

"Yes. Yes, I have! I know this is hurting you; it's hurting me, too. Do you really believe that I want to do this? Do really honestly think that? I don't."

"Then why-"

"Because it's the right thing to do, like I've said before, and I will keep saying it. You know it; too, you just don't want to admit it." Finally, the first few tears strayed from her eyes, and he was fighting against his own flood barriers. Neither of them cared that they had spectators. "_Please_, Rory, sign the papers? Not for me. For _yourself_. I'm doing this to save you from misery. You'd never be truly happy with me because I can't give you what you want, and I can't put you through the...torture of not having your own family. I can't do that to you. I feel bad for making this decision, but I know that I would feel much worse if we stayed together and you were unhappy. Then I would be unhappy and what would be the point?"

"I can't-"

"Do it. Then we can both move on. I'm not changing my mind."

_Why did she always have to be so stubborn?_

"Fine." Eventually, he scrawled his signature down before shoving the papers into an envelope to be posted.

Somehow, relief washed over Amy like a wave. "Thank you."

"I did it for myself. Like you said."

She simply nodded, standing up, wiping her sleeve across her nose and cheeks. "Right... I'll, err...post this on my way back..." The coffee Rory had bought her had remained untouched, still warm, still smelling strong and sickly. She made her exit from the lavishly decorated cafe. Only Rory went after her, stopping her in the middle of the busy street where Trafalgar Square was situated not too far away.

"What happens now? What are you going to do? What am I going to do?" He looked full of disdain.

Moving closer, Amy pulled him into a hug, desperately holding onto him one final time. She tried her hardest to smile when she faced him. "Don't worry about me... I-I'll be fine. It's time you started worrying about yourself for a change." She sniffed. "I will always love you. Don't ever think that I don't, or wont or that I never did. I have to do this. You, of all the people in the world, deserve to be happy. You deserve to have the life you want. And you will have that, you will. You'll find someone who loves you as much as I do, maybe even more; they will see how lovely you are, and how special and kind and good you are; and you will have kids by the dozen. You'll be brilliant. Just you watch."

"Will I see you again?" he asked, attempting to compose himself.

"Maybe. Who knows? It's a small universe, after all." Pausing, she thought. "And, if you see River, or the Doctor, tell them to get their backsides to London. Tell them... Tell them that I'm sorry..."

He nodded reluctantly. Please let this be a bad dream? Please let me wake up to discover that everything is actually fine?

He was still hopeful, still clutching onto the fact that she still loved him. Inside he was aching; aching from the pain of losing her and aching from the hope that she would realise this was a huge mistake and that she would come running back to him and embrace him like her life depended on it. He hoped she would as he watched her slowly walk away, feeling disheartened, lost.

She didn't turn back.

**((Apologies to all you Amy/Rory shippers out there. I love them, too, but I needed this to happen to fit with the story ideas I have.))**


	11. Chapter 11

**((Treating you to another chapter as I am feeling generous and I love you all.**

**From here and onwards, the Pondlock will take place. It might seem I'm taking things too slow, but I don't want to rush it; it's just not realistic otherwise. Well, I think so anyway.))**

She'd done it. She didn't hold back, she posted the papers on her way back home. If she hadn't done it then she probably never would have. In a sense, it made her feel better, knowing that now Rory could be free to have the live he had always wanted. For that reason alone she didn't regret her decision.

It was quiet back at the flat. Sherlock, once again, was concentrating on hid experiments when Amy went to brew herself a cup of tea for some small kind of comfort.

"It didn't go well then," piped up Sherlock when he noticed the female at the kitchen counter. She stopped what she was doing to take a deep breath.

"Sorry..?" Without turning to face him she carried on with filling her cup.

"With your husband."

There was no need to bother questioning him how he knew that. She was used to it now. Anyway, it was kind of obvious she had been crying and Sherlock knew that she didn't really have anything else to be upset about.

"It was fine." This time she did face him, watching as he peered down the lens of his microscope.

He knew she was lying. "No, it wasn't."

"It went_ fine_." She was firm.

"I don't think it-"

"Why do you care?"

"I don't."

"Then please stop talking!"

She didn't mean to raise her voice. She was still worked up. After some silence and awkwardly standing on the spot, looking around, she cleared her throat, apologising. "Actually, it wasn't fine," she began, running her fingers through her windswept hair, sitting opposite him. "It was anything but fine. I thought I would be okay...but, I got there...and then all these questions started piling into my head, doubts niggling away at me. I almost didn't go through with it..." She sighed heavily, thinking back to the cafe with Rory earlier. "It is... It feels _so_ surreal. When I got married I never thought this would happen. I never thought things would go...wrong..."

"People make mistakes," he said, much to her annoyance.

"Mis-mistakes? Marrying Rory wasn't a mistake! The only mistake made wa-" Demon's Run, she thought. They had made the mistake, a big mistake, doing whatever they had done to her. It was alright for them, they weren't paying the price for it, and she was. What a huge price it was.

"You know already, don't you? You know why I left Rory so there's no point in explaining. I doubt you're even listening..." Not once had he looked up at her from his work.

Rising from her chair she went to finish making her drink - angrily dropping the tea-spoon on the counter in the process - then proceeded to leave for her bedroom. "People make mistakes." Sherlock had no idea about her relationship with Rory. He hadn't seen what they had been through. She doubted he even knew if such experiences existed. Getting married to Rory had been the best thing to happen to her - aside from the Doctor - and she was glad that she had. She had married him because she'd loved him, because he was all she had wanted when everything else she had was vanishing from her view. And Rory was the most lovable and most kind-hearted person she knew. No-one would ever mistake marrying him.

She couldn't blame the Doctor either. How was he supposed to know what would have happened at Demon's Run? No-one foretold the events that would take place, except River, of course, or Melody as she was initially named; having Melody wasn't a mistake, either. Definitely not.

"I was listening," said Sherlock, causing her to stop and turn again. She looked at him blankly.

"Isn't that what you want? Someone to listen to you?"

"You don't understand, so what is the point?"

"Come on, relationships are hardly complicated."

"Oh really?" she scoffed. "That's what you think."

"It's what I know."

"Shut up, Sherlock. You don't know, okay? You don't know what I am feeling. You don't know anything about me and Rory or what we've been through, despite your 'super-elusive-detective-skills'. Have you ever had to give up someone you love because you weren't making them happy? Have you even been in a relationship?"

"I don't see how that is important."

"I might as well ask seeing as you claim to 'know everything' about them." She sat opposite him again, clutching her cup hard in both hands.

He sighed. "I didn't say I know everything; I said I know they are not as complicated as people so desperately say they are."

"And how do you know that?" He said nothing and she slightly smirked. "You don't."

"I don't do relationships. They're just pointless distractions. Nothing more. If everyone else realised that then I'm sure they would save themselves a lot of trouble."

"Wow..." she spoke with sarcasm, "thanks for the advice, Jeremy Kyle. I'll remember that."

At that moment, Mrs Hudson wandered in. "Amy, dear, this came for you. A woman delivered it. She was rather nice. I have no idea who she was, I didn't get her name."

Amy took the envelope from her landlady and opened it. Unfolding the paper from inside she read the words written in bold black pen:

Amy, be careful.  
You're in danger.

Amy soon moved over to the window across the room, intending to catch a glimpse of whoever sent it. Although, she had an idea who it was.

"Is everything alright?" Mrs Hudson asked.

"Yeah..." Amy folded the paper up, and then slipped it into her pocket, leaving the window. "Everything is fine." She was lying and Sherlock knew it.

**((Hope I didn't make Sherlock too much of an arse in this haha))**


	12. Chapter 12

**(( Okay, so I am having loads of fun writing this part of the story. That's all I'm saying. :D ))**

Finally, a client.

It had been several weeks since Amy's last interaction with Rory and petty tiff with Sherlock. They had drawn a line under it and carried on as normal. To be honest, Sherlock's company was what Amy needed to keep her mind from thoughts of her marriage - he barely spoke of it.

A tall thin man name Alex Wright in jeans and a t-shirt had sat down opposite Sherlock and Amy in 221b. He looked really nervous, picking at his fingers, avoiding eye contact. He was the first client Sherlock had had come to him directly in a long while.

"I fink my friend is involved in somefing," the client finally said with his gaze constantly flicking between the two flatmates. He found the detective intimidating, the female less so, but her kind smile did nothing to ease his nerves.

"Can you narrow that down?" Sherlock asked expecting the young man to get straight to the point.

Alex shifted uncomfortably. "I fink he- might be involved in somefing big. Somefing...illegal."

"What makes you think that?"

Alex suddenly hesitated, then shook his head. "Nah, you know what? It don't matter. I shouldn't 'ave comes. You'll fink I'm mad." Although he got up to leave, Amy stopped him.

"Hey, it's alright. We won't think you're mad, will we, Sherlock?"

"That depends on what the problem is."

"No, we won't." There was firmness to her tone that made Sherlock mumble in agreement.

"Are you from Scotland?" asked Alex as he eased his body back into the armchair.

Smiling, she nodded. "I am."

"I like Scotland. It's a nice place."

"The very best."

"Oh, please," sighed the detective, rolling his eyes. "Yes, lovely. Can we get back to the matter in hand?"

Alex contemplated briefly about what he was going to say, causing Sherlock to grow ever more impatient by the second. "My friend i-is dead."

Sherlock frowned. "You think your friend is involved in something illegal because they're dead?" It almost sounded as if he was mocking the man.

"No- yes- N- I don't know."

"Please don't waste my time."

"Sherlock!" Amy scolded.

"But, listen," Alex pressed on, "my friend died four days ago - found outside a bettin' shop Monday morning 'e was. By a passer-by. The cops know. The fing is, I saw 'im."

"What do you mean you saw him?" Amy asked.

"I mean, I saw 'im. After 'e was found dead. Yesterday. I saw 'im walkin' out of a shop in Piccadilly."

"But you said he died..."

"Exactly! I fought it was just me. My mind playin' tricks on me. I fought I was dreamin' it. But I definitely saw 'im, and my girlfriend said she's seen 'im, too. Outside Harrods last night. 'Ow can 'e be 'round if 'e'd been found dead? I've tried to contact 'im but 'e don't answer. It's like- like 'e's avoiding me or somefing. 'Is family believe 'e's dead. They won't believe me when I tell 'em what I saw; what Julie saw. Which is why I fink 'e's involved in somefing illegal - I mean, you 'ear about it, don't you? People fakin' their deaths to get out of somefing, make someone believe they've popped their clogs so they'll leave 'em alone, or to protect someone."

Amy shifted on her chair uneasily at the subject, knowing all about Sherlock faking his death. Yet when she glanced over at him he didn't appear at all phased. Although, she realised how good he was at hiding what he might really be feeling.

"Interesting," mused Sherlock.

"I-it is?"

"Did you ever notice your friend acting suspiciously when you were with him?"

"No."

"Nothing at all."

"Not that I can remember. 'E's always been quite 'onest about fings. At least, I fink 'e was. Please, Mr 'Olmes, find out what's goin' on? I don't understand any of this at all." Alex was desperate to know what was going on, they could see that. The concern and confusion masked the rest of his face.

"What is his name?"

"Joe. Joe Vidal."

When Alex Wright left, both Sherlock and Amy stood up. "Do you really think this Joe Vidal faked his death?" she asked her flatmate with an eyebrow raised.

"There's only one way to find that out."

* * *

They had checked with the police. They confirmed Joe Vidal's death. His body was still in the morgue.

"He's definitely dead then," muttered Amy as she and Sherlock loomed over a lifeless body.

"Evidently. So why does Alex Wright seem to think he saw him walking through town yesterday?"

Amy was going to say that maybe Joe had a twin, but that was stupid. It wasn't in his records and Alex would have known if Joe had a twin or not. She could say it for laughs, but she didn't feel as if Sherlock was up for a laugh. A morgue wasn't really an appropriate place for jokes anyway.

A pretty-looking Molly stepped forward. Looking over files, she tugged down on her bottom lip. "Maybe his friend believes in, you know, the supernatural? Maybe they think they saw his ghost..."

"Probably," responded Sherlock, though he knew that was complete drivel, "or maybe he's having hallucinations. Grief can do that to people."

"And what about his girlfriend?" Amy added.

"Well, if she knew Joe as well as Alex did then she is bound to miss him, too. People can't quite let go of memories, objects, and other people. Especially after death. Sometimes you see things that aren't really there. The imagination runs wild and makes you believe anything and everything it wants you to. Or what you want. Maybe they saw Joe because that's what they want. Instead of the truth they want to believe that he's still alive so in their mind he still is. It's a common thing. Sentiment. Grief."

"That's it?"

"Yes. I think so..."

"But..?"

"Nothing."


End file.
